


Most Things in Between

by fireweed15



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underswap, Cocaine, Genderswap, Other, Underswap Papyrus, Underswap Sans, fem!sans, if you squint hard enough - Freeform, mentioned in passing at any rate, vaguely incesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:10:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7905970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireweed15/pseuds/fireweed15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Underswap] Perhaps one day there would be a day when he didn’t come back in one piece– for now, neither was considering the possibility.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Most Things in Between

Comedowns did more than suck. They _fucking_ sucked.

As soon as Patrick opened his eyes, the splitting headache made him regret it. He swore coarsely, dragging the blankets over his head in a futile effort to block out the light and the sounds of the early morning hours. Even if the early morning hours were nine on a Sunday.

Three quiet raps on the bedroom door added to the headache. For a moment, he considered growling at the offending knocker to fuck off, save for– “Pap, are you awake?”

There was only one person in the world who was allowed to call him Pap. “Yeah,” he called back, flipping over and sitting up. “One sec…” He pushed the covers back and himself out of bed. He swayed on his feet, unsteady for a moment, before picking his way through the clothes he’d shed the night before and redressing, shorts and a hoodie. Close enough.

He unlocked the door with a practiced flick of the wrist and pulled it open, even managing a tired smile for the person on the other side. “Mornin’, Sánchita.”

Sánchia smiled brightly up at him and lifted a breakfast tray. “Brought you something,” she announced, inviting herself in.

“Do I wanna know?” he asked, closing the door behind her.

“I have–” She balanced the tray with practiced ease on the corner of his long-disused desk– “cinnamon sugar toast, orange juice, water– how’s…?” She gestured vaguely toward her nose.

Hell, up to this point he hadn’t really thought about it. One side was blocked and useless; when he touched the back of his hand to the other side, it came away with snot and flecks of dried blood. “Shit,” he grumbled.

Sánchia wordlessly dropped a box of Kleenex on the bed for him. “No nosebleeds this time,” she warned. “Oh, and aspirin.” She tossed him the bottle of aspirin, which hit him in the middle of his chest before he caught it. “You’re gonna need the aspirin.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he replied, the words heavy with sarcasm as he stripped out of his sweater. In so many ways, he was the opposite of his sister; his gaunt frame was one such testament.   

“I’m serious, Pap,” she intoned. “Take the aspirin.”

“Can’t I just have a benzo?” he asked, collapsing face first on the mattress, the question muffled by his thin pillows.

“Is that really necessary?” Sánchia scolded, crossing her arms and fixing him with a stern glare.

He didn’t notice. “ _Benzo_.” He drew the last syllable out as he lightly tossed the bottle in her general direction. He missed by a long shot, and the bottle went skittering into the open closet as he turned his hand up, waiting.

Sánchia sighed and pulled a worn out Sominex box from her pocket, tipping two pills into her palm. “You’re lucky I love you,” she murmured, crossing the room and pressing the pills into his hand.

Almost satisfied, Patrick turned over and sat up. He shook his head when Sánchia offered him the ice water and swallowed both pills dry– a skill acquired with a great deal of practice.

“You’re not gonna eat?” she asked, looking from him to the tray.

He shook his head. “I’m gonna let this kick in and wait until I don’t feel like shit,” he pronounced before flopping back, his head hitting the pillows with a soft _whump_. “Thanks, though.”

Sánchia sighed before picking her way across the bedroom and crawling up onto the bed beside him. She fit between his body and the edge of the mattress oddly well. “Sometimes I think I could tell Dad you go out on these weekend benders and he wouldn’t notice,” she admitted.  

He exhaled forcefully, the sound more of a pseudo-chuckle than one of annoyance, and lifted an arm to wrap around her shoulders. “As long as I come back in one piece–”

“Debatable,” she interjected.

“ _Physically_ in one piece,” he went on, “he’s cool.”

Perhaps one day there would be a day when he didn’t come back in one piece– for now, neither was considering the possibility. The Sominex was kicking in, judging by the way Patrick’s breathing evened out, and, despite the late morning hour, Sánchia nodded off beside him.

**Author's Note:**

> I borrow the designs from a friend and her bro, and wrote this for said friend. 
> 
> Because cocaine both reduces one’s appetite and increases one’s energy, I imagine US Papyrus is a fucking rail. On the flip side, US Sans (girl Sans bc I can ♥♥♥ ) is curvy and heavier set than her UT counterpart.
> 
> The things I researched for this fic no doubt made my dead mother spin in her grave, so for that reason alone, I’ll be trying to write more of this AU with these characters (◡‿◡✿)


End file.
